The Saddest Song
by Brookebynature
Summary: Even after he confesses to everything with Amelia, the results of a pregnancy test mean Blair soon discovers that she wants, and needs Chuck more than she could have ever realised. Chuck/Blair as always. Multi-Chapter. Show based COMPLETE
1. The Boy's Bathroom

**A/N- **Me again! So orginally, I had this story planned for One Tree Hill, but after watching some of season 5, I decided against it, simply because Brooke just isn't the kind of person anymore that I was writing her as. So as Blair is so wonderfully obsessive compulsive, and Chuck is such an ass (but in a good way obviously) I thought this story was better for them.

So even though though I don't believe Chuck would EVER cheat on Blair, Josh Schwarz painted the season finale as though he would, and so this follows on from that. This is my first multi-chapter GG fic, so I'd appreciate your support with reviews :) I've written most of this already, and I think there'll only be about 6 chapters in total. (See? Not too long, I'm easing myself out of oneshots haha)

This is dedicated to the wonderful ending lines: "And who are you?"..."I'm Chuck Bass."

Because I love that their relationship is still tainted.

Gracie xxx

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter 1: The Boy's Bathroom

She'd been alone in the bathroom, one with beautiful marble tiles, black and smooth, and Egyptian cotton towels, pristine white without a trace of the black mascara she always wears. The suite's white too, a huge corner tub with jacuzzi jets, and a double shower, one that shot water all over the body leaving nothing untouched, nothing dirty, nothing imperfect. It was, after all, _Blair Waldorf's_ bathroom, one that had to show elegance, opulence, perfectness.

None of that had mattered though, because she'd been holding a tiny white stick, one that had matched the décor, which would have generally satisfied her had it not given the wrong information. She doesn't want to be pregnant in high school, and she certainly doesn't want to be a pregnant Upper East Side teenager. That doesn't fit her niche.

_Chuck's _not the father, and for that Blair's glad, she supposes, because she's not sure she can handle this being worse than it already is. _He's _not the father because she's newly pregnant and _they_ haven't done _that _in months, not since they were together, or at least, not since they were _creeping around together _in his suite, in limos and club rooms, in that disgusting store cupboard in the hall beside the biology rooms in Constance Billiard.

She thinks back to the other week-it's the event freshest in her mind for sex, freshest in her mind for _anything _due to the fact that she hadn't actually passed out from the amount of alcohol when she hit her pillow. That had been happening way too much lately, and one time, even Serena had passed comment. Now, Blair's blonde friend usually ends up the same way.

There'd been a bar and shots, tequila, vodka and orange, vodka and cranberry, vodka. There'd been a club, fake I.D's of course, and a PDA from Serena and Dan in front of her eyes, and then another, from Nate and that random Vanessa girl that was almost too much to handle, and then finally, right in the corner of the room, the furthest corner away and yet it seemed to be right under her nose, she'd spied Chuck and some unknown blonde that had surely spent the night in his suite. That one that had sent her over the edge and to the bar.

And then Ben had been there, just standing in that annoying, polite well-mannered way that Chuck never adopted, waiting patiently to be served a scotch on the rocks, lemon twist.

Blair hated scotch on anybody's breath but Chuck's.

He was cute enough, if she'd liked that sort of thing. And in that jet on the way to Tuscany, she'd felt some sort of a connection, some sort of want to stay with him.

And after Chuck had confessed to sleeping with Amelia, Ben had been there again, offering to fly her wherever she needed to go. They'd only gotten as far as the bedroom.

He'd been dressed in jeans, smart not casual, but it was of confusion to Blair how the doorman had let him in, let alone why he was even still around. Still, she'd made her way to the bar, not just for another shot, but for some company. For that night supposedly being about "fun", as Serena had put it, it seemed that someone was doing their damned hardest to not let her have any.

There'd been dancing eventually, after much of Serena's persuasion, the blonde taking advantage of the attention before winking at Dan and blowing him a kiss, making lonely boy blush further. Blair was almost certain he still hadn't got the hang of dating Serena van der Woodesen. They'd consumed every free drink sent their way; cocktails, champagne, liquid cocaine. They'd danced together, blonde hair with brunette, black dress against tiny grey shorts, Serena's eye on Dan, Blair's eye on Chuck. And that blonde whore with him. If it wasn't Ameli-whore then it was an Ameli-whore lookalike.

Perhaps it wasn't that night, perhaps…no, it must have been. Ben had dark hair, she remembers, dark eyes, soft hands. She'd hated the feel of his hands on her, soft skin against softer skin. Chuck's hands had always been rough, perhaps even a little dirty (not literally of course-nothing was literal any more) and her pure manicure.

They'd danced, grinded, kissed, licked on the dance floor. And all of it had been totally out of character. Gossip Girl had a field day the morning after, posting clips of Blair strutting her stuff uninhibited. He'd left after a couple songs, and then come back with a cocktail each, orangey-yellow with some kind of red stuff at the bottom, a morello cherry on top. He clearly didn't know her at all. Blair hated morello cherries. Chuck knew that. And yet she drunk the stuff, and ate the cherry because Ben wasn't Chuck and nobody was going to think twice about whether she did, or did not like morello cherries.

They'd left together, hailed a cab, held hands, never talked, just kissed. Blair Waldorf hadn't hailed a cab in her life, and for a millisecond, it had felt good.

That feeling gave way to sickness when she'd caught Chuck's eye as he was stumbling out of that very same club himself with that very same blonde on his arm.

**X**

Stripping. He'd taken off his top, her shoes had been next, peep toes clanging against the woodwork of the hallway, waiting to be put away in her closet the next morning when she returned home, to resume their place beside the pair of Kurt Geiger bow details, arranged by colour. He'd removed her dress next, throwing it somewhere between the banisters and the door to a bedroom she wasn't entirely convinced was his. Her dainty hands had reached for his zipper, and they'd fallen. That explains the bruise on her hip the next day.

So it could have been him. The sheets were tangled, creased, crumpled, undoubtedly replaced with a fresh new set the next day by his equivalent of Dorota, and her head hurt, too many aspirin or other pain killers already consumed in earlier days for there to be any left.

And now she presses her head into her hands, a tear finally willing to escape as she faces the fact that she doesn't even remember exactly where his house is, or even what his surname night be, another and another falling as the walls of the cubicle spin away from her and she lurches forward, throat burning, eyes clouded over as she spills the contents of her empty stomach into the toilet bowl, a flush of the chain and a straighten of the new Chloé blouse, a fake smile as if to rectify the situation.

And _he's _there when she unlocks the door, frowning with confusion, but he has that look in his eyes, the one which tells her (silently of course) that he's not really surprised that it was her in the cubicle. The sex of the toilets in the wrong hallway doesn't stop Blair Waldorf.

He's not been seen with the blonde anymore, or any blonde for that matter (not even Serena)at least, not in public. She's not even pleased. There aren't feelings towards him anymore, only numbness. She needs alcohol and pills to feel again, emotions that she's almost sure she's forgotten until they come back.

"Blair?"

It's the first time he's spoken to her since that night he confessed to sleeping with Amelia while they were supposed to be flying to Europe _together_, and yet she doesn't even care anymore, she's just wondering why he said her name as though it was a question. It's not like her appearance has changed since the last time she saw him (straight after last period yesterday, for the record), but for some stupid reason, he now suddenly seems disbelieving that his ex…girlfriend?... is standing in front of him.

"What?" She barks, eyebrow raised as a defence, just in case he thinks she's going to suddenly blurt all of this out to him.

"Are you alright?"

Blair scowls. Chuck never asks if she's alright.

"I'm just peachy." She tells him coldly, rolling her eyes as she washes her hands and splashes some onto her face.

"For a bulimic you mean." He adds, with a stupid cocked eyebrow as he toys with his latest ridiculous scarf.

"Jeez Chuck way to start yet another rumour about me." She retorts, grabbing the lipstick from her hand bag (the same bag that matches the new shoes on her feet).

"They're not rumours when they're true."

Not _this_ again. She can't do _this_, she's tried to fight his concerns about her weight, about her health, but every time she does, he seems to bring her back, a constant reminder of what they no longer are, and never will be. Only Chuck Bass, the man-whore she's never wanted to feel anything for, can make her feel like she meant to world to him once, like she was his everything, just as he'd been hers.

But that's only an illusion, a dream, a fantasy to think that he ever cared much really. If he'd cared at all, if he'd shown just the tiniest ounce of respect towards her, then he wouldn't have slept with Amelia.

It all just proved she was right about him all along.

The door opens, and a very confused freshman eyes the pair of them, instantly recognising Blair. She's back to Queen Bee since Ben-Gate went public on Gossip Girl.

"You guys are fucking again? In the bathrooms? At _school_?"

Blair shoots him daggers, a look to say that he shouldn't be asking, but she answers with a reply anyway, because it's Spring Fling elections soon, and she wouldn't mind being crowned Rose Queen. Rather her than Serena for once. Even if she _is_ pregnant.

"Chuck and I aren't _fucking_, no. I've found that when you have to ask if it's inside of you, you're probably not meant to be together between the sheets, or at all, if you know what I mean. Makes me wonder how he can actually lure girls into bed with him."

Her voice is sharp, and she's proud of that hurt look crossing her ex-…girlfriend's?... face. It won't make Gossip Girl later, she's sure of that. It just killed to get it in there, even if it wasn't true. He could do with being taken down a peg or two.

The unsuspecting guy (without a name for now, because she has no idea who he is, and he doesn't matter to her enough to ask) takes a gulp, hurrying himself to the stalls at the other side of the room.

Blair's quicker. She manages another comment before he can close the door (doesn't like peeing in front of a girl, she guesses.) and he simply heads back towards the door he came from.

"You won't tell anybody you saw me here. I could ruin the dating scene for people like you for years.

And then she's out of that bathroom before Chuck can respond, leaving the lipstick (berry bliss, because she's given up on ruby red) on the counter beside the sink, and a trail of emotional destruction in her wake. She's breaking Chuck Bass.

Just like he broke her.

* * *


	2. The Study Party

**A/N- **Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, here's the second xxx

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter 2: The Study-Party 

Everything now is a blur. It's like life is passing by in slow motion, and she's the only one living in real-time. School drags, even manicure sessions drag, and _they're _not supposed to go slowly. Pilates sessions last longer. The instructor asked her the other day whether everything was ok, whether she really needed to be pushing her still-developing body through a grueling fitness regime every day. Blair had answered quickly, that her body was up for the challenge and had added with a lowered sharp voice whether the instructor would mind keeping her nose out of her life. It's all little extreme, some might say, but when she can think of nothing else other than the white stick in her bedside drawer, anything to keep Blair slim and busy is something worth doing.

Every assignment, every piece of homework she's been set, every piece of literature she's been told to read has been done, and even though she's averaging A's in English, Math and Latin, her C in History is letting her down, and no matter how many books she reads on the French Revolution or the Black Death that swept through Europe in the 14th Century, that C doesn't get any higher. And yet for Serena of course, even though she's spent countless school nights in suave bars with shots of goodness knows what, that A grade comes naturally.

Serena doesn't notice things have changed, and for that, Blair's glad. She's always known her best friend's unintentional self-absorbedness would come in useful one day.

"Chuck's throwing a study party in his suite." Serena tells her friend obliviously as she sifts through rails of extravagant material, fingering different shirts in the closet as Blair sprawls out on the bed. She's begun spending too much time in that hotel lately, and only the fact that Chuck had moved back to his suite had kept her from rearranging outfit-planning sessions at her place.

Serena finally settles on a plum-coloured shirt, chiffon with a bow detail at the neck. It's a shirt Blair would never even cast her eye over, but teamed with fresh new jeans on her blonde best friend, it looks nothing short of stunning.

Blair wishes she could just throw clothes together like Serena does. Everything she ever wears takes careful consideration to prove that it looks respectable, classy and worthy of trend setting.

Nobody copies Serena's outfit choices. They'd pale drastically in comparison.

"Hello, B?" Serena frowns, waving from inside the closet, looking for another pair of effortlessly beautiful shoes no doubt.

"Yeah?"

"I _said_, Chuck's throwing a study party tonight."

"And you're telling me why?" Blair asks bluntly.

"Because you're only averaging a C in History and that C isn't going to get you to college."

"And you think Chuck is the answer to my...less than sufficient grades?"

Serena shrugs. "He got an A in the last assignment. And in the one before that."

"Yeah, but he probably paid someone to write them for him."

"B, he's pretty smart you know."

Blair hadn't told Serena about Amelia. She knew things would just escalate, and she preferred to save herself the embarrassment of having people know that yet another boy had cheated on her. So she'd said that she must have been going through a serious lapse of judgement, because now, the more she looked at Chuck, the more it made her feel sick.

The blonde had just laughed, telling Blair she knew she's see sense sooner or later.

It all made Blair just that little bit more pissed that Serena couldn't even notice what was perhaps Blair's most unconvincing lie to date_._

"_I never loved Chuck. I hardly even liked him."_

"Please." Blair scoffs rolling her eyes. "Chuck Bass couldn't teach me anything."

"You mean, besides how to bend into...certain positions." Chuck smirks in the doorway, eyeing up Serena standing there in only jeans a bra. "And S, please put some clothes on. You're practically begging for a case of incest here."

Serena rolls her eyes and pulls the shirt on, smoothing it against her skin without a thought of pressing it first.

"You make me sick." Blair spits with disgust as Chuck settles his eyes on her. It's true, the first time he's spoken to her since the incident in the boy's bathroom, and it's making Blair more than nervous.

"That's not what you were saying while you were in those positions before." He replies. He's guessed her little game, because if she'd told Serena the truth, there's no way that this conversation would ever be happening. So as long as Blair's pretending, he'll pretend too. "And for the record, Serena's right, I'd say you _do_ need my help."

She supposes she does. And not just concerning Latin.

"So I'll expect you 8ish." Chuck continues. "I'll provide the drinks and the snacks, at least, for those people who eat."

He directs the last part at Blair, and she begins to panic in case Serena asks anything. But then she remembers that she expects too much from the blonde when it concerns noticing things, and that Serena would just discount any comments made by Chuck as...well...meaningless.

"Entertainment arrives on request."

"Great." Blair sighs, rolling her eyes in a mock-interested way. "Hookers at a study party, bet they're fountains of knowledge when it comes to European history."

"You always expect the worst in me Waldorf."

"You leave me no choice."

Her comment stings, they both know that, and it's not only the guilt for the whole Amelia-incident that makes Chuck feel sick. Those butterflies are still there, bigger and more alive than ever. He makes to exit, fingering his latest ridiculous scarf as Blair rolls back against the scatter cushions, unaware of Serena's confused expression.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Blair asks nonchalantly.

"I thought you guys weren't talking because you 'found him repulsive'." She air quotes with an ignorant smile.

Blair simply shrugs. "I guess we are now."

**X**

Seems the study party has been turned into a stripper's party, probably due to the arrival of two very drunk, and _very_ underdressed maids. Blair recognizes them as belonging to the fourth floor due to a trip to the laundry room there once, and contemplates calling Bart, intrigued to see his reaction.

But then she catches Chuck's eye as Serena places a drink in her hand, and Blair forgets all about the phone call.

"Some study party Chuck." Serena muses.

"Yeah well, the entertainment came earlier than expected and…well let's just say that the French Revolution just isn't as interesting as French kissing."

"You disgust me."

Chuck only shrugs. "We're all human."

That's another reason Blair has to be jealous of Serena. Her blonde bubble is never tainted, her reputation never tarnished even with the addition of Chuck as a step brother and Dan as a boyfriend.

Blair couldn't get away with either.

_Nate's _here. Looking around like a lost puppy, (he was never one for these sort of parties, just stayed on the sidelines as a dutiful boyfriend would. Still, that same dutiful boyfriend managed to sleep with her best friend).

She's secretly pissed that he and Chuck have reconciled, even if they aren't how they used to be. She'd rather they both hate her as well as each other, than hate her _with_ each other.

Mind you, she knows Chuck would never hate her. She's felt him watching her every move at school, and it gives her the slightest ounce of satisfaction to know that there's still something there between them.

She doesn't go over there though, not to the other side of the room where the set up looks nothing unlike a 50 Cent video, just stays by the doorway clutching a cup half full of tequila and coke, ready to make a sharp exit if needs be. She hasn't drunk any, not a drop, and she's not sure why exactly, (because she definitely isn't keeping this…thing inside of her) but she raises the cup to her lips every now and again as if to take a sip, never once swallowing the liquid, but instead, returns her hand to its position by her side, the liquid never leaving the pristine glass. It's precision of course, but then Blair's always been one for that kind of thing.

Nate looks at her then, stares with cold eyes, so she brings the glass to her lips again, lips open ready, but something in her stomach lurches, and she nearly throws up into the glass.

He'd never had _that_ much of an effect on her when they were together.

"Have you seen Vanessa?" She hears him someone whose name she doesn't know after he's finally stopped staring through her. Not knowing names of people is becoming too much of a habit, but she knows who _Vanessa_ is.

And clearly, he's not the best person to play hide and seek with considering Chuck's suite comprises of the main room, bathroom, closet and lounge area. It's not like she'll be hidden away.

"I think she was at the drinks table the last time I saw her." Who's Vanessa? Comes the reply, and Blair finds a smirk creeping across her lips.

Chuck's parties used to be fun. Every one was different, some including poker, (or strip poker more often than not) some resulting in ludicrous bets that always ended badly, and some just…never ending. And even though she pretended to Chuck, to Nate and Serena that she was tired of the frivolous bashes, she enjoyed each and every one. They're different now though, the parties. There seems to be a sort of routine, where they have the same drinks, with the same people talking about the same things. And Blair Waldorf hadn't imagined Chuck would fall into a routine.

The only one who cared for routines was herself.

If she cared enough about how things were back then when she was oblivious to Nate and Serena's lies (although she's never been that oblivious really), Blair thinks she could long for the old days. The old days always seem better now, back when everything was new and exciting, when she could sleep with Nate, but never actually _with him_ without having to return to a cold, empty bed with nobody but Dorota for company. The old days didn't include Chuck Bass in the way he's included now.

**X**

"B! Come dance with me!" Serena yells above the now very-loud music, a nearly-empty champagne bottle in her hand acting as a microphone. Blair rolls her eyes, wondering just how much longer it's going to take for the guests beneath Chuck's suite to complain about the noise. She'll be glad when they do. Then this little charade will be over and she can go home.

Blair waves Serena away, shaking her head as she contemplates calling Dan. Her blonde best friend wouldn't be nearly as drunk under his watchful eye.

"Come on Blair!" Serena pleads. "For me." And then she pouts, her lips glossy as she rolls puppy dog eyes, and Blair finally realizes how Nate could have been so captivated that one unfaithful night (and every other night he was in love with her).

So Blair places her glass on the first available surface, trying to imagine how she'd dance if she was tipsy right now. All thoughts turn to that night at Victrola.

The brunette joins her friend in the formal living area, blotting out all disbelieving glances and whispers because whatever scandal this might prove to be tomorrow, it'll be another day her real secret is kept under covers. Too many people are around them, rubbing and grinding, the small area having been turned into somewhat of a makeshift dance floor.

She's not sure how a study party could have possibly turned into this.

Serena shakes her lithe body against Blair's, arms and champagne bottle swinging and the deafening bass line begins to act as a heartbeat. Lord knows her own stopped long ago.

Blair tries not to count the seconds until drops from that bottle spill onto the shag pile, but does anyway because she's just always been a little OCD-ish. It's something she loves (and hates) about herself, but it's there, always will be, and she can't change that.

**X**

"Step outside." Chuck breathes roughly against her ear, mid-dance as she leans back, thinking that if there weren't as many bodies packed as tightly, she might well fall over.

Blair just glares at him. Her heart beating even faster, no longer in time with the music and it pisses her off. She likes things to be synchronized.

"I want to talk to you."

He leaves then, sleeking out of the door without a backwards glance her way, and for a moment, Blair scoffs at the idea of ever following. But panic and curiosity get the better of her, and she motions to Serena that she's just going to step outside for a little fresh air.

The blonde says she'll come, but Blair shakes her head no, silently thanking the lusting mousey-haired boy who thrusts another bottle of champagne into her best friend's hands.

"This better be good." She says icily as he smirks her way at the empty corridor and closed doors keeping them from anyone else's ears.

"Babe, I'm always good."

"Babe? Who says that?"

"Chuck Bass apparently."

"Well once you've stopped referring to yourself in the third person, would you mind telling me why you've made me come out here?"

"I didn't _make_ you do anything."

"Urgh." Blair fumes. "You're so infuriating!"

"You love it really."

"I love nothing about you, and neither does anybody else."

"That's not how it seemed when-"

"Hurry up, I like this song." She cuts in before he can finish the sentence, knowing that she's probably not going to like what he has to say. She stopped wanting to hear the words leaving his mouth the day he moment he explained what happened when they were supposed to be flying to France. Blair never did tell him that she flew there with BEN?? anyway. And now she's just lining herself up for round two.

"I..." He begins, but then his dark eyes narrow at her. "You don't like this song."

"What?"

"You don't like this song." He repeats. "I remember you telling me once how much you hated it."

"You must have heard wrong."

"I didn't hear wrong, I…look, this isn't about the song."

"Then what is it about Chuck because I'm not sure why you're even talking to me." She spits. It's true, she's not. She'd told him after his confession never to speak to her or look at her again.

"You left this in the bathroom the other day." He hands her the lipstick she'd left by the sink, a small hopeful smile crossing his lips. She's not sure why, she won't be returning it.

"You wanted to find me so that you could give me my lipstick back?"

"Yes." Chuck nods. "And to talk."

"We don't talk."

"Says who?"

"Says the unwritten book of me and you."

"You and me."

"What?"

"The correct grammatical form is to you 'you and me', and not 'me and you'." Chuck corrects with a stupid grin. "It's much more polite."

"And you'd know _what_ about politeness?"

"Clearly more than you."

"This coming from the person who practically declared his undying love for me, and then screwed some slut twenty minutes later."

"I never declared my love for you."

Blair rolls her eyes and turns her body, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I'm leaving."

-

She'd never really noticed it before, but even the full length windows in the hallway of The Palace give one hell of a view. There are two of them: one at each end, particularly unusual for a hotel corridor she thinks. Out of one she can see the traffic below, headlights making patterns in the dark street. The other window looks out towards the back of the hotel, featuring a small walled garden, courtyard even, with hundreds of herbs and scented flowers that probably cost more to import than most peoples' houses. During the day, she can pick out the block where Victrola is situated, not just because she likes the view that way, but because something about that place always used to make her smile.

She tries not to let herself think about that place, yet always fails, and it just makes that aching in her chest worse. So she stares back out of the other window, the one towards the unimportant city lights, where if she looks hard enough, they all turn into a blur, flashing too fast in front of her.

"Blair, are you going to look at me." Chuck asks, joining her at the window.

She steps to the side quickly. She won't let his body touch hers, that's too dangerous because she figures that if she thinks about it, she might still love him. It's better then, to feel nothing, to be numb, because it would be harder to sleep with that pain in her chest constantly there.

"Okay, you don't have to, but can you at least listen to what I'm saying?"

"I'm listening." She shrugs coldly, her back still turned, her chest heaving because all of a sudden, it seems a little harder for her to breathe.

"Are you…I mean…do you…"

"You're asking me to listen to your stutter your way around a sentence? There's a perfectly good party in there that you're making me miss, so could you hurry up?" Blair bites, her hands rubbing her cold arms up and down. It might be late Spring, but the nights are still sometimes surprisingly cold, and the corridor leading to Chuck's suite has never been particularly warm.

"The other day, when you were in the bathroom." He begins. "Were you…did you make yourself…sick? Because you're fine as you are Blair, you don't need to be any thinner, you don't need bigger boobs or a smaller waist. I know you, you think you're not perfect, but you…"

"Yes that's it Chuck." She rolls her eyes sarcastically. "You _know _me. _You're _right."

"And I get why you used the boys bathroom." He continues, misunderstanding the whole situation. "You think nobody's going to say anything right? But…maybe you need to…talk to someone?"

"I can't believe my you of all people are telling me that I need to see a shrink."

"Not a…pschychiatrist Blair. I meant a doctor."

"They're all fucking shrinks." She mutters, moving even closer away from him, towards the door. "And thanks for this little chat by the way, I feel _so_ much better by knowing that I'm 'fine how I am'."

She's almost out of the door when he calls her back, and for a moment, she keeps going. But for some reason, she just can't seem to walk away, and he only has to call her name for a second time before she's turned back around to face him, still avoiding his eyes.

"She wasn't you."

"What?" She almost laughs. "What are you talking about?" It's all fake of course, because she knows _exactly_ what he's talking about.

"I just thought you'd like to know."

"That I'd like to know what?"

"She wasn't you. Amelia. She wasn't as good as you, wasn't as beautiful as you, wasn't as…" He trails off, not really sure if this is his roundabout way of apologizing. Sometimes, 'I'm sorry' just won't leave his mouth.

"You're mistaking me for someone who cares." She mumbles, closing the door behind her, leaving Chuck to stand alone in the corridor, in _his _corridor, simply staring at the decor, (pretty bland, he thinks, for the record).

-

She knows he's staring at her. She'd feel those dark eyes burning into her anywhere, and the fact that she's dancing with some guy from the lacrosse team probably does nothing but intensify his gaze. She can't remember what his name is, Tony, or Toby maybe, not that it matters. But the fact that Chuck's watching does.

She'd switched drinks at the table a few minutes ago, absent-mindedly of course, and now 

the glass in her hands contains some sort of lethal cocktail reddy-brown in colour. The smell makes her wants to gag, but she keeps a sort-of smile plastered across her glossy lips nonetheless, moving her hips effortlessly in time to the music. A full smile would be over-doing things, but when these pictures make gossip girl later, she figures she'd better look at least a little interested.

Blair doesn't want to think about the guy in front of her, or the girls to the left, blatantly watching her every move, watching every twist and turn, so instead, she focuses on how she's like to redesign her room. She's tired of the blue walls.

She's not even sure if any studying took place tonight, she bets probably not, but perhaps if it had, the night would have dragged on even longer than it was doing.

She's in mid-design, just trying to figure out what colour the walls should be when before she knows it, the song is changing, and so is her partner, to none other than Chuck. His hands are resting on her hips, a little overconfidently, but they're there nonetheless, and she has to close her eyes quickly and try to remove that lump from her throat.

"What the hell are you doing?" She manages to choke, keeping her glass close with one hand. She's not even sure why she's still holding onto it.

"Dancing."

"You don't even like dancing."

"Neither do you."

It's true, she doesn't.

"Besides, I needed to talk to you."

"I've got nothing left to say to you Chuck, I've got nothing left that I want to listen to."

"There's something you're not telling me." He says regardless, staring at her, as if silently hoping that she'll give in and just tell him. Whatever it is that she's hiding must be something big.

"Stop pretending like you know me." She says, trying in vain to push him away.

He stays though, his hands now pressed against her tighter, and as soon as she feels his grip grow stronger, she wishes she'd just let him stay how he was. Then she wouldn't have shivers going down her neck to the bottom of her spine. Then it wouldn't be quite so hard to stand.

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"Whatever it is that you're hiding from me."

"Get over yourself." Blair shakes her head. "Why do you think that everything revolves around you?"

In her head, she's screaming that it's because in fact, everything that she does either makes her think of him, or includes her trying _not_ to think about him, and now, it's all becoming too much. She breaks free of his arms, slamming her glass on a nearby table as more tears threaten to fall (as if she hasn't cried enough over all of this) like the after-party for desolation in _her _world.

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Wow, I just realised how long this chapter is! Hope you enjoyed it guys, please review :)


	3. The Palace Bar

**A/N- **Loads of thanks to everyone who reviewed, they make my day :)

And here's chapter 3 :)

* * *

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter Three: The Palace Bar

She's not even sure why she's here, but it's better than the huge emptiness back at home. Serena's gone for a few days, spending the weekend with Dan and his father on some stupid poor people's camping trip somewhere in Connecticut so Blair can't even hide her feelings in her best friend's self-absorbedness. She's not sure if she's ever heard of something as stupid as an Upper East Sider slumming it in a tent in the woods.

The hundreds of liquor bottles make something of a pretty pattern, she's concluded, on the shelves backed with mirrors. It's the lines she likes, symmetric and perfect, the angles fitting together wonderfully.

It's been two months now since the study party. Two months since that day Chuck caught her in the school bathroom, two months since she submitted her history assignment that she's almost definitely got an F in, and three months since she hid that test away in her bottom drawer.

It's gotten a lot warmer outside during the nights now, warm enough at least for Serena to sleep in a tent, but still probably not quite warm enough for her to wear the dress she has on without a cardigan or jacket. So she sits, delicately, cross-legged in a floral creation, her bare arms cold with goose bumps, but she ignores it, or at least tries to.

Her arms are too thin. Her stomach is always empty, not only from the vomiting, but because she doesn't allow much food in there. She's passed the three month mark now, and most people would start to show.

Blair's lighter than she was before.

And even now, _especially now_, she makes every effort with her appearance. It's the only thing she's got left.

"Blair?"

She knows the voice. Even before she turns around, she can picture the confused expression across his face, because they both know that this is _his _place, not just because he lives there, but because it's _his_ seat and it's _his _favourite drink she's got standing in front of her. The only time they've been here together was after their affair was exposed. And he shot her while she was already down.

Now? She expects nothing but the same. And she still doesn't know why she's here.

He tells her that she's in his seat, and when she snorts, he takes a seat beside her anyway, clearly not caring if she wants him there or not.

He tries to make small talk, and when that fails (because they were never really into small 

talk anyway) he moves on to insults, banter, self-love, because _that's_ how they communicate, and if it's the only way she'll talk to him, he'll take it.

He can't even find the words to tell her how much he regrets sleeping with Amelia. But he figures they won't help much anyway, because he knows there's more to all of this than she's letting on.

Blair remembers the days before any of this, before complications and feelings of love, of lust, when the two of them would simply sit together, because Nate would be with the Captain, or God knows, maybe with Serena (doing absolutely nothing, yet it would mean absolutely _everything_), and they'd talk, never about their absent best friends, but about their fancies, their favourites, and their feelings.

Sometimes, Chuck would bring a book of poetry, and recite to her the words that meant something _that_ week. When they got a little older, he'd bring a bottle of scotch, they'd find a secluded spot beneath a tree in Central Park, and he'd tease her into taking one swig, and then another, and another until she was giggling, falling against his shoulder as she passed the bottle back to him so that he could take a swig of his own.

When she'd vomited once, in a bush wearing pretty shoes and a Chanel dress, he'd vowed never to do that again, smirking as she smacked him in the chest for making her behave in such an undignified and unladylike fashion.

Occasionally they'd have ice cream, and even though she always said that it would have to be low-fat, she always opted for fudge brownie or butter pecan, licking her lips as she finished up the cone, and he'd still be working his way through the first scoop.

And of course, they'd never told anyone about that time spent together, because it was precious, it was private, and even though they'd never acknowledge it, it meant everything.

**X**

"So how did you do in the history assignment?" Chuck asks carefully. He normally wouldn't have bothered saying anything at all, but the silence is making him feel uneasy, so the sound of his own voice is the only thing he has left.

"Do you have to talk?" Blair bites.

"Apparently so."

"Well I like the silence you why don't you try thinking about someone else for once instead of yourself."

"That's rich coming from you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know Blair!" His voice is a little louder now to compensate for her raised tone, and all she wants to do is run away. But she can't because she's supposed to be thinking right now, and all she can think about is him anyway. "You say you don't want to talk to me so why come here? Why this bar and sit in my seat?"

"If you're so bothered about the damn seat then have it!" She spits, standing up as she stares at him.

They're lucky there aren't people in there who know them. Surely this would be making breaking news on Gossip Girl.

"I don't want the seat Blair, I want you to tell me what you're doing here."

"Passing time." She shrugs, still standing.

Chuck eyes her suspiciously, watching the way her hands cradle her cold arms, her pale face and the way that her stomach is so flat underneath that pretty dress. He can't help but wonder what she does in her bathroom.

He doesn't question her anymore. Just nods and tells her that she should take the seat (holding back that she looks a little faint) because he doesn't mind the one beside her.

She's not sure why she sits back down.

**X**

It's been hours now, it has to have been, and the tension is killing her. It doesn't help that he sighs into his own drink every so often, a sort of mixture of content and tiredness, just like he used to do when they'd sit in Central Park together, tipsy or full of ice cream, and he'd trace his fingers lazily across her arm, just because it comforted them both.

Blair closes her eyes because she needs to block those times out now. That's not how they are, it's not how they'll ever be, and she can't seem to get over it.

He can't take the sight of her goose bump any more, and takes off his sweater, silently handing it to her without even looking in her direction.

Blair eyes him out of the corner of her eye, thinks about passing comment on why he's wearing a sweater _and _a shirt, but then she realizes _she's_ the one who's cold, and it's not really about him.

And she probably shouldn't have taken it, it breaks the rules of their fight, but she's Blair Waldorf and she's never been one for following rules anyway. She feels warm and safe with it on, material sinking around her that smells of him (not any other girl thank God) as she fingers the cuffs, her hands disappearing inside.

She curls her nose up when she catches him smirk a little out of the corner of her eye, and if she was any warmer, she'd have taken the sweater straight off and thrown it at him, walked away maybe. But her feet seem unable to move, and every time she tries to tell herself that she's leaving, she only stays, rooted to the stool like she'd die if she left as her ex…boyfriend?... swirls the scotch around in his glass.

Blair hasn't touched hers.

"Is it new?" She asks. Her voice sounds hoarse and way too loud, but she's sick of the silence 

now, and he wasn't going to break it any time soon.

Chuck looks at her, a little confused and without turning to him, she elaborates.

"The sweater, is it new?"

"You bought it for me." He says simply. "That October when you went with Eleanor to Paris."

"Oh."

"Are you still cold?"

"I wasn't cold before." She lies. She's not sure why everything has to be made into a fight, maybe she's just desperate to win something.

"Right."

It's quiet again, and he brings Serena up, just to keep her there next to him.

"So S is shacked up in a tent with Brooklyn and his dad? A little Brady Bunch wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe you're just jealous because you never went on a camping holiday with _your_ father."

Blair shudders when the words leave her mouth, because as much as they both know Chuck's family life has never even neared what could be described as happy, they'd never brought it up before.

"And you have?" He returns sharply.

"I prefer the Four Seasons."

"And I prefer The Palace."

**X**

"Do you want to take a walk?" He asks, fingering the glass in front of her as he realizes that there's definitely a full measure of scotch in there, and none of it has passed her lips.

She doesn't shake her head, doesn't nod her head in reply, just stands up, his sweater falling loosely around her, dark brunette curls tumbling around her shoulders.

Chuck's not sure he's ever seen her look so beautiful.

When they leave the Palace Bar, they acquire a few stares, most likely concerning her pretty dress covered by his oversized sweater.

Her fingers twitch, and she's glad he's not walking close enough by her side to feel them. He sees though, smiles inwardly, a little awkwardly (and still guiltily) and moves a little closer, not so they're touching, but close enough so there isn't much air between them.

"Are you running for Prom Queen?" Chucks asks, just to break the silence. He doesn't expect her to say yes, only because she'd always been the first one to shy away from those events, saying that they were for people who needed the publicity, and that she was definitely not one of them.

Chuck thinks that it's because she always knew Serena would beat her in the running, at that if that happened, Blair would never be able to let it go.

She used to have a lot of thoughts, a lot of opinions, and it didn't seem to matter when she didn't voice them. Now, when she keeps things to herself, or when she simply can't find an opinion on anything, she feels lacking in substance, shallow, empty.

Blair Waldorf is the exact opposite of empty.

Even after Jenny wore a pink hair band three shades darker than her blouse, Blair couldn't think of anything to say. Now she just wishes she could get that back.

"What are you thinking?" Chuck asks her as he notices they've slowed from a normal speed to something of a shuffle, and people are passing all around them on the sidewalk.

"About Jenny's hair band."

"What about it?"

"It was three shades darker than her cardigan, and I couldn't think of anything to say."

Chuck lowers his voice to a near whisper "Seems you've lost your touch."

He notes her expression, and apologizes. "Sorry. I didn't mean…Blair I'm sorry…for everything."

She can tell from the look written across his face that he thinks he probably shouldn't have said that. But retracting his statement would only bring more attention to it, and so she watches out of the corner of her eye as he rubs his hands against his pants again and again until she can't stand it anymore.

"I'm pregnant." She blurts. Saying it seems to act as some sort of release and she feels the same salty tears burn in her eyes that fell the previous week in the boys' bathroom. She stays composed though, for now, the water blurring in front of her, yet she doesn't move, doesn't twitch and he stares at her, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say.

"You're…no…"

"Yeah, pregnant, bun in the oven, knocked up, whatever you want to call it."

When he doesn't respond, Blair finds herself gabbling, gasping for air as she tries to choke out her words through threatening tears.

"I haven't told anyone, I…it's not…it's…I don't know if it's too late, I just…what am I going to do?"

He takes her then, in the middle of the busy sidewalk, his baggy sweater falling over her frame as he pulls her closer, an arm tightly around her incase her legs give way, his mouth in her hair is she clings to his shirt with weak hands.

And then as quickly as she fell against him, she pulls away again, wipes furiously at her face, and shakes her hair behind her shoulders, whips off his sweater and hands it to him, no eye contact, no smile, no more tears.

"I shouldn't have told you that." She says blankly, turning her body in the other direction.

Chuck calls for her but with her back turned, she daren't face him again in case she gives in just like a few moments ago. It's taken her long enough to build up strength against him and she's not willing to risk that for something the size of a dot inside of her. It's nothing to do with Chuck and she's angry for even telling him.

"Blair where are you going?" He shouts, but she keeps walking as he clings to the sweater, masked with her perfume as she disappears into the crowd and he's left with nothing but guilt, disappointment and fear.

Because this could never end well.

* * *

Please review :)


	4. The Only Option

**A/N- **Sorry this ha taken a while for me to post - like I said when I posted 'On The Edge' I left this chapter on my memory stick in my office, and didn't get it back until yesterday. Stupid me.

Anyways, if you aven't read my new one shot (C/B of course) you should check it out! Alos, I was wondering if any of you One Tree Hill fans could help me? In season 5, does Lucas have an alcohol problem? And if he does, is he sober now? I need the info for a new story lol. I might have just imagined all that, but I thought I'd better make sure :)

Enjoy xxx

* * *

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter 4: The Only Option

She's angry. Livid, not with him for probing (because he didn't really), but with herself for being ridiculously weak. Still, anger is a feeling, she reasons, and having not had any of those in a long while, she figures she's supposed to be glad that she's got that back.

Perhaps it was easier when she felt nothing.

There's lots of time for thinking here, with white walls and white ceilings, white floors, white uniforms providing a blank canvas for thought as she sits in the chair rather uncomfortably in the doctor's office.

She remembers when she was a little girl, and Dorota would bring her here sometimes if she had a bad cough or if she'd gotten gravel in her knee when she fell. She'd been here too, when she wouldn't eat, when she forced fingers down her throat, and Eleanor had practically forced her into a limo (not accompanying of course) after a particularly bad week.

The doctor had given her pills. Not one bottle, not two, but countless, each with horrible hard-to-pronounce names, each a different colour, yet each having much the same effect.

Maybe she could get some of those right now. It might provoke a smile.

"Miss Waldorf, I understand that you're here to discuss some options with us?" The doctor says, and she takes a gulp, forces the tightest of smiles and nods, thinking that perhaps it would have been better if she'd issued a false name. "I'd like you to do another test here with us, just so that we can confirm that you are pregnant."

She narrows her eyes at the woman in the white coat, inspecting her features; wide nose, glasses and blonde hair. "Don't you believe me? Is this because I've been here before for…other stuff, and you think I'm doing this to get attention, because…"

"I don't think that at all." The doctor reasons. "But it's procedure that we do a test on the premises, just to confirm.

Blair doesn't reply, just lets the aching sides of her mouth drop, her eyes staring at the floor as the doctor picks up her stethoscope. She'd only come here for some damn leaflets.

She hands the stick back to the doctor, face devoid of all emotion as she thinks perhaps she should have given a false name, because even though patient confidentiality is supposed to be procedure, this is still the Upper East Side and Gossip Girl still exists.

Just because scandal might be heartache doesn't mean Gossip Girl goes sparingly.

The rest of her appointment passes in a huge blur. There's some prodding of her stomach, she realizes only when she's lying on her back on a table as her eyes begin to water uncontrollably.

A lot of things have been uncontrollable this week.

There's gel across her skin, a monitor displaying fuzzy images that she peaks at just once, before turning her head the other way as she hears something sound horribly like an incessant heartbeat. And now Blair's sure she's heard the doctor sigh on more than one occasion.

And as she leaves, everything still a blur, she's clutching leaflets with awful bright colours for backgrounds.

The receptionist asks her to sign some form that she doesn't read, and then offers her some condoms from a selection spread out tediously across some sort of plate as she hands her some white card with another appointment time scheduled on it.

She guesses she must have decided out loud on abortion some time during this ridiculous procedure.

And now she can't understand why they just won't give her one now.

"A little late for protection now, don't you think?" Blair cuts icily, thrusting the pen back underneath the glass screen as she rolls her eyes. Chuck would have taken them anyway.

And for a while outside, she thinks it's raining, light drizzle in the warm air. And then Blair realizes it's her hot tears, wipes at her face furiously before Gossip Girl ruins her any further and slings the Balenciaga bag over her shoulder, heading nowhere in particular down the busy sidewalk.

**X**

He's reading a book when she walks in. _Actually _reading, not just pretending to like she knows he used to do in literature class. Blair can't understand why any teacher in their right mind would let Chuck Bass sit at the back of a room.

She slams the door and he looks up, a mixture of surprise and knowing at the same time. Blair throws the bag down, leaflets tucked safely inside from prying eyes before curling up against him on the bed, face pressed against his chest so he can't see her eyes as she cries in his presence yet again.

"Still with child?" He asks, placing the book on the bedside table. She doesn't move, and he takes it as a yes, not really sure what to say after that.

"I don't know what to do." Blair mumbles.

It's no good to Chuck. He doesn't either.

"You're keeping it?"

"No…I'm not…I just…"

"Blair, you're stalling."

"I'm not."

"You want this baby."

"I don't." She replies indignantly. "I don't want anything to do with this…thing inside of me."

"Then what's your problem?" Chuck asks. "The clinic will sort it, right?"

Suddenly she thinks she's lost any faith in Chuck she had left.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here."

All of it is chocked through constant tears that he's almost sure are ruining his 400 shirt.

"Do you know the thread-count of this shirt?" He asks her a little sarcastically. He's just not sure how to be serious around Blair. The last time he was, he'd gotten more than he'd ever expected.

" Yes." She mumbles.

"And you're ruining it with your mascara."

"It's a horrible colour anyway." She counters in a mumble, slightly satisfied, deeply unsure of how to take Chuck nowadays. Flirty banter seems to have given way to select comments with hidden meaning.

Blair's not sure when that horrible line had been drawn.

"You picked out this shirt."

"I did not. I wouldn't have picked lilac." She returns. "_Nobody _suits lilac."

"Chuck Bass suits lilac."

"_Blair Waldorf_ fails to agree."

She's sat up now and her eyebrows are raised, and it's the first time Chuck can relax even just a little around her.

"So what happened at the clinic?"

He's not stupid. He's knows exactly where she's been.

"They gave me condoms."

"What?"

"Here." She reaches into her bag, pulling at the selection from the plate that had been on the counter and then hands him the three packets. "Knock yourself out."

Chuck just takes them, places them on the nightstand beside his lamp and looks back at her blankly.

"We should have used them."

"What?" Blair frowns.

"If we had, this wouldn't have happened."

"What….No!" Her eyes widen in horror. "This isn't… It isn't… It's not yours."

"I thought…"

"No!" She shakes her head. "We did use… You know, protection." Blair nods towards the nightstand.

"I thought it must have…"

"I was on the pill."

"But it's not 100..."

"It's not yours Chuck."

Her words cut him like he wouldn't have thought possible, and it's only now Chuck realizes he might have wanted this after all.

"So whose is it? Nate's?"

She shakes her head., silently thanking God, because if this _thing_ inside of her _had_ been Nate's, things might be way worse.

"So what, you just screwed some random guy?"

"Like you screwed some random girl?"

"Yeah, but I didn't knock her up…" He trails off, realizing he's gone too far before he changes his tone to a much softer one. "I said I was sorry Blair."

"Yeah, and so am I. But I guess I'm the one paying for it, not you."

"I'm here though." Chuck tells her. "If you need me to come to your appointments…or anything."

"I don't need you to come to anything, this has nothing to do with you!"

"It has _everything_ to do with me when you're God knows how many months pregnant and crying on my bed!"

"I'm not crying."

"You _were_ crying."

"I was not, my eyes were just sore from staring at white for so long."

"You can admit it you know." Chuck probes further. "If you want to keep this baby, even if you don't tell me whose it is."

"I don't want to keep it."

"What are you trying to hide?" He asks. "What could you possibly think that you can't tell me?"

"Everything!" She cries.

"But you used to tell me everything about Nate and Serena and all those girls from school. We never had any secrets."

"Liar."

"What!?"

"Liar. We had tons of secrets from each other."

"Like what?"

"Like you loved me, like I loved you, like even though she was my best friend, I still hate Serena…And Nate was the only guy I was supposed to cry over." She's babbling now, her throat sore. "And then everything happened with us, and then you wouldn't talk to me anymore…So I couldn't tell you about this because it was just…All such a mess. And I wasn't supposed to cry over you because I wasn't supposed to feel like this. None of it was supposed to be like this."

Chuck's silent for a while as he figures out what to say.

Blair doesn't know why he's even trying to be tactile. He never was before.

"You hate Serena?"

Blair shrugs. "Not all the time."

"But sometimes?"

She shrugs again. "It's just like…her world revolves around her you know? And the things she's supposed to notice, she just doesn't, and the things she's never supposed to do, she does and yet I know all of this and I still love her but…"

"You just said you hate her."

"But I love her too." Blair sighs. "It's like, she has this power, where you can't not love her, like no guy can be her friend without falling _in love_ with her, and I… I just don't get it. It's like you're the only guy who isn't affected by it and who doesn't try it on…"

She must have noticed something in his eyes, he figures, because all of a sudden, Blair clasps her hand to her mouth as though they're in a slasher movie, and the killer is coming up behind him.

"You tried something with her didn't you?"

Chuck dips his head, not knowing what to say because it was one time, and he knew he shouldn't do it, even when he_ was_ doing it.

"When?" Blair demands.

"It was one time Blair, and nothing happened."

"When?" She demands again.

"When she first came back to New York. I was drunk and I wasn't… It wasn't like I wanted it to happen, but you were with Nate and…"

"Don't you dare make this about me."

"If you'd just listen to me…"

"I'm done listening to you Chuck." She replies tiredly. "I should have known when you were giving that speech at your father's wedding that it was all lies."

"It wasn't lies!" Chuck protests.

"Well it wasn't the truth."

He can't stop her before she gets up to leave – doesn't even try. Just watches as she picks up the bag she dropped down earlier before glancing towards the condoms on the nightstand.

"Use those for whatever whore you're with tonight." She bites. "Including Serena. You don't want to end up like this." Blair gestures to her still-tiny frame.

And then she's gone out the door before she can look back and before Chuck can even respond, her hand clutching the small white appointment card.

It's her only option.

* * *

Please review :)


	5. The School Gossip

**A/N- **Thanks so much for your reviews guys. Here's number 5 xxx

* * *

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter 5: The School Gossip

Blair screams when she sees the message and accompanying picture from Gossip Girl on her phone.

**Seems one of our Upper East Siders has gotten herself in a tricky situation. Careful B, eating for two might not look so hot with next season's Prada.**

"Miss Blair, what is it?" Dorota exclaims, running into Blair's room, duster in hand.

"I...thought I'd lost my new lip gloss." She lies, fumbling around at her dressing table until she finds something that resembles new makeup. "It's plumping." She says, faux-smiling as Dorota shakes her head muttering something about people thinking a real emergency might have been on hand before leaving.

Sighing as she rolls her eyes, heart pounding, Blair's hand shakily grabs her cell as it bleeps again.

**Late night booty call or co-parenting tips? B leaving a certain Bass household in tears doesn't paint a picture of family bliss. Settle down little one, you'll fit right in.**

Now she sits, toes twitching on the soft carpetas she awaits Chucks response, then Serena's and probably Nate's too.

It doesn't take Chuck long to reply, even though Blair knows the message will have no doubt awoken him from a morning of laboured pre-school slumber.

_Deny everything _is all it reads, and Blair certainly isn't impressed. Still, it's nothing more than she'd expected, and knowing that he wasn't going to start revealing anything to anyone was of slight comfort.

Serena takes longer, most probably due to typing and then re-wording so as not to offend, Blair figures.

Still, _Is it true B? _wouldn't take much effort or thought, the brunette concludes, and due to unfavourable finger control and priorities, finds herself unable to reply. She needs to get a story together. And fast.

**X**

The school gossip when she enters the gates hits Blair like a slap to the face. Even people who she's sure she's never seen before stop to stare, and she hurries past the crowds and into the building, books clutched tightly to her chest.

"Maybe she's trying to hide the bump." She hears one girl whisper (not quietly enough) to her friend as she rolls her eyes, making straight for her locker along the main corridor.

She can feel her cell vibrating in her bag, and knowing that the only person it could be is Serena, Blair chooses to ignore it, trying (and failing) to focus on the math test she has period four.

Focusing on anything other than her "situation" these days is more easily said than done.

Her outfit today is impeccable, beautifully fitted, tailored to cling to every curve, to every area she's worked damn hard to keep in shape to prove that nothing about her has changed.

Her shoes are high, belt on its tightest notch as she places the books into her locker before smoothing down the cashmere cardigan.

Appearance is still everything and she'll be damned if she ever let herself go.

And then her stomach lurches as she hears small hurried footsteps on the hard floor. She knows it's Serena before she's turned around, and the blonde thrusts herself beside her best friend.

"I've been trying to call you all morning!" Serena huffs somewhat annoyed, keeping her voice low.

"Oh, have you?" Blair asks, with a look of fake surprise. "I must not have heard my cell. Was it something important?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about B." Serena shakes her head. "I know you saw Gossip Girl this morning."

Blair only shrugs.

"So is it true?

"Is what true?"

Serena groans, knowing Blair isn't going to make this easy. "That you're pregnant."

"As if I would ever _do that_ to my body. I thought you knew me S?"

It's easier to turn this on Serena. She's just not up for a fight today.

"Then look me in the eye and tell me it's all just a stupid rumour."

"It's a stupid rumour." Blair says, deadpan. Her chocolate brown eyes stay locked with Serena's blue ones – she can't afford not to act properly. "Seriously, I can't believe Gossip 

Girl has nothing better to do with her time than make up pregnancy rumours. I mean, if it had been about little J, then I might have believed it but..."

"Blair." Serena cuts, with her 'don't-talk-about-my-ex-boyfriend's-little-sister-like-that face.'

"Whatever."

"And the pictures of you coming out of Chuck's suite?"

"They weren't of me coming out of his _suite_, they were of me in the courtyard."

"So he's not...you know... the father?"

"Serena, I said I'm not pregnant okay!? And Chuck Bass as a babydaddy? Please. His sperm would never have a helping hand in the making of another human, not if I could help it."

The blonde rolls her eyes and laughs, but her serious tone is soon back as she questions the first photo.

"So those pictures of you leaving the clinic?"

"If you must know, I...found something."

"Something like...?"

"God, do we have to discuss this in the hallway?" Blair sighs, shooting a quick glance to check who might be listening.

"Fine, drinks after school. Palace Bar at 5?"

"Done." Blair nods. "I'll have a raspberry cosmopolitan. No crushed ice." She adds before slamming the door of her locker shut, heels clacking on the dark flooring.

She's done feeling guilty for lying now. If her own best friend can't tell, she knows nobody else can. Nobody except Chuck.

**X**

Nate collars her at lunch, right when she's finally plucked up enough courage to spoon a mouthful of cherry granola into her mouth.

"Blair, can I talk to you?" He asks, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, and then back again with a look of both annoyance and intimidation at the same time. Blair guesses it's only because Serena is sat beside her wearing quite possibly the shortest skirt in history.

"Go ahead." She says icily, shooting an evil glare towards her spoon.

"In private."

"I thought you liked everyone to know my business?"

"Well we can make an exception this time. Besides, it's not like you're busy right?"

She's angered by the comment, and also by the much softer smile he gives her blonde best friend, who dips her own head, staring at the new leather boots on her feet.

"Actually, I am."

"Trying to avoid eating?"

Her group stop pretending to not listen as the words leave his mouth, and when her lip quivers accidentally, Blair can tell Nate knows he shouldn't have gone that far.

She's not even sure why he's requesting they talk in private – everyone has seen Gossip Girl (though none have bothered to ask her for the truth) and they all know he's going to make sure dollars don't have to be handed to trust funds anytime soon.

They only go as far as the corner of the gate, a somewhat secluded spot where they'd share kisses and stories of how boring their morning lessons had been. Now, all that's left to share are stony silences and wasted memories.

"I saw Gossip Girl this morning."

"Didn't we all."

"And I wanted to ask you whether it was true." Nate adds quietly. "I guess it's not really any of my business but I wanted to make sure you..."

"Weren't going to take you to court for child support money? Don't worry Nate, the chequebook's safe." She cuts in coldly.

"So are you?" He asks again. "Pregnant I mean."

"You were right in that no, it definitely is _none_ of your business."

"Blair..."

"But I'm not." She relents. "I'm not pregnant."

Nate lets of a sigh that is almost definitely too loud, but Blair chooses to ignore it because all of this pretence is making her head hurt. Besides, she needs to save her energy for drinks with Serena later.

**X**

Blair stares at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair over and over as if it will somehow make a difference to the face that gives away a half hour of constant vomiting. Her stomach hurts 

and her legs feel heavy and weak, and all she really wants is a big bowl of spaghetti followed by the death-by-chocolate desert one of the kitchen staff had whipped up for some forgotten occasion.

And yet, none of that is possible, and so she forces a tight smile, steadying herself for countless hours of listen to a drunken Serena ramble on about how much she loves Dan, even though Blair knows it's really Nate she wants.

She spritzes her neck with perfume just once more, even though she's sure that she's only imagining the smell of vomit now. She's washed her hair and changed her clothes and showered with some expensive soap that Eleanor had brought her back from Milan a few weeks ago.

Her cell bleeps, and expecting Gossip Girl again, Blair's relieved that it's only from Serena checking that she's on her way.

**X**

"You're late so I had to start." Serena tells Blair as the brunette sits down, frowning at the near-empty glass of what looks to have contained a margarita.

Her raspberry cosmo is waiting for her as requested, and as Blair takes a seat, Serena signals to the barman to pour her another.

"How did you find the math test?" Blair asks quickly in hope of her friend forgetting why they were there in the first place.

"Hard." The blonde replies with a hand on her forehead. "I officially hate surds."

"I think everyone hates surds." Blair replies, taking the glass full of pink liquid into her hand, swirling it round as Serena instructs the barman to put her second drink on the tab.

"But we're not in school now, lets forget about math. You're telling me why you were at the clinic. _And_ why you were leaving here last night."

"I found a...rash." Blair stumbles.

"What kind of a rash?"

"You know, like the kind you don't want in the place you _really_ don't want."

"You got an STD? And from Chuck?"

Blair hadn't thought that far ahead in her story. But she figures she can work with where Serena's going, and shakes her head, faux-reluctantly elaborating.

"Turns out it was just a reaction to some soap I'd been using. I just came to tell Chuck that he wasn't the bearer of some gross disease."

She feels bad for talking about him as though he's unworthy. But Blair hating Chuck is more believable than the real truth, and if she doesn't end the gossip soon, she knows things are going to get out of control.

Serena soon moves on, reeling off something about an art show she went to see in Brooklyn with Dan as Blair concentrates on drawing circles across her leg with her finger.

"B, you haven't even touched your drink." She frowns, adding that she's on her third, and maybe should make it her last as she hasn't yet had dinner, and rolling in drunk might make Lily cross.

Blair brings the glass to her lips as Serena caves when the barman tells her just one more and then he'll stop serving.

"Is there something wrong with it?" The blonde asks when Blair places the glass back down on the bar.

"No, I just...I kinda don't feel well."

It's the truth. There isn't anything wrong with the drink, it's even optimum drinking temperature, and Blair's a little miffed that she can't drink it, as these days, getting a barman to chill a drink just enough is hard to come by.

It's just that the pain in her stomach has gradually been getting worse, and she still feels rather nauseous.

"You want to head home?"

She doesn't need further invitation, and asks if Serena would mind.

"Not at all." She waves it away. "I'll come with you."

"Don't be silly, you'll have to come all the way back here and I was going to walk anyway..."

"I could use the fresh air." Serena cuts in. "I think the tequila's gone to my head a little, and my mom won't appreciate me not being able to hold my knife and fork properly at dinner."

Blair only shrugs, too tired to argue.

**X**

Blair rolls her eyes in annoyance as Serena stumbles through her bedroom door, clearly drunker since they left the Palace bar. It had taken them longer than expected to reach Blair's house, and the brunette had found herself making sure that Serena wasn't going to throw up, and not the other way around.

Still, Serena had seemingly forgotten the day's earlier rumours, and flopped down on the bed, legs and arms akimbo.

"I think I might stay here tonight." She announces, snuggling against a scatter cushion. "You know, stay up late on a school night like old times, talking about hot boys and girls with bad fashion sense."

"I'm actually really tired S."Blair replies wearily. "Do you mind if we do it another time?"

"But it would be fun." Serena pouts. "And I'm too drunk to walk back to the hotel now. Please don't make me." She offers Blair her puppy-dog eyes, making her relent.

"Okay you can stay, but only if we go to sleep."

"Deal."

Blair disappears to her bathroom to change as Serena removes her clothing, riffling through Blair's drawers to find a pair of suitable pyjamas.

As the brunette opens to the door, bent over with stomach pains from not eating all day, she stops dead, glass of water in hand as she realises the drawer Serena, stood in pretty lace underwear, is looking through.

"S, that's the wrong drawer there's only gloves and..." She trails off as Serena's hands clasp around something white, bringing it out of the drawer.

Blair watches as her friend's eyes widen, and before she can respond, a surge of pain hits, and she feels something hot and wet between her legs.

Serena's face tells her that something is definitely wrong, and as her own eyes start to cloud over, her balance becoming unsteady, Blair manages to place the glass on the sideboard before another surge of pain hits her, and everything goes black.

* * *


	6. The Way Out

**A/N- **So here it is, the last chapter in this fic that's turned out to be very dark and actually, very sad, even by my standards. But I think this has been my favourite ever story to write, and I just wanted to take this chance to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed throughout this story :) Like I always say, they mean so much, they really do :)

So here's the last chapter, hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**The Saddest Song**

Chapter Six: The Way Out

Blair fails to hear the words of Serena and the nurses running around her as another flash of pain tears through her. She knows what's happening.

She's not even sure how she's managing to walk, or how the screams forming in her mouth won't escape her lips, but she is, and they're not, and for now at least, she's keeping it together.

Pretty ironic really, that as she's losing a _something _inside of her, she's still composed, still tidy, still bitchy as the nurse tries to help her and she shouts that she can do it on her own.

Truth is, Blair knows she can't, and she's more than grateful at the sight of a decent-enough empty hospital bed as she tries to ignore the fact that everyone can see her wearing sweat pants in public, even though she knows that she'll have to throw out them out anyway.

And as they lay her down on the bed and tell her not to panic, she tries to ignore Serena covering her trembling mouth as one nurse shouts something about delivery to another, and they whisk her away like in those awful episodes of ER she's seen. Only this time, not comfortably laying underneath silk sheets with Serena and a bowl of popcorn in Serena's old bedroom, hoping for a glimpse of George Clooney like they used to, but she's doubled up in agony in a bed on her own as a thousand harsh lights fly past her overhead.

They don't have to tell her; she knows where she's going.

And moments later, when she's delivering a sort-of lump-like mass, tears streaming down her face, it's the most humiliated and undignified she's ever felt, and when Blair finally lets herself go, eyes closing as her fingertips loosen their grip on the bed sheets it's like some kind of euphoria, and it's the release she's needed for so long.

**X**

The hospital gown she wakes up in is horrific. It's white and plain and so loosely fitted that it looks like she's drowning in a sea of white, and all that's visible are a pair of tired eyes and pale, pale lips. She lets an investigative hand travel down to her stomach, sighing inwardly as she trails her fingers over her flat stomach, and then back again, leaving her hand rooted at the side of the bed as Serena gasps and throws herself onto her best friend's chest.

"B, I'm so sorry." She chokes, and it all only annoys Blair further. She knows fine well that Serena isn't sorry she lost the baby, but she figures that she's sorry that it had to happen in the first place.

"For what?" She snaps, not even sure why she'd said it.

"For this whole…"

"Mess?" Blair offers.

"I was going to say situation."

The brunette stays silent.

"So how are you feeling?"

"On top of the word." She replies sarcastically as Serena sighs a little, angering her even more.

"I meant, are you in pain?"

_Of course not. _Blair thinks. _I've just been forced to endure the worst moment of my life in public. _But she shakes her head anyway. "Just a little sore."

"I didn't know what was happening. I thought… wasn't sure if you'd be okay, and then…oh my God I should have called your Mom! I'm so stupid, I can't believe…"

"Don't." Blair cuts in quickly. "Don't call her."

"But don't you think she should…"

"I said, don't call her." Blair emphasises forcefully as Serena takes a gulp of oxygen, leaving her friend seemingly starving for air. She stares at the blonde, makes her promise that she won't call Eleanor, and when she does finally give her word, Blair lets herself fall back to sleep, because it's the only place that _this _isn't a reality.

**X**

He wakes her up gently with a stroke of his heavy fingers underneath her eyelids, ignoring the fact that his skin is now wet with her tears as he places his other hand to his lips before gesturing to Serena asleep in a chair beside the bed.

She doesn't ask how he knows, and for the most part, she's more grateful to him now than she's ever been for anything before.

He doesn't ask if she's okay (he knows more than anyone that she's not), doesn't urge her to speak as she wraps her dainty arm around his back and he loops his around her. It's horrible and it's tense and it's totally inappropriate, but it's the most complete she's felt all day.

All he tells her once they're outside of that room is that "Serena called." He doesn't need to add anything, and he doesn't want to. It was bad enough the first time.

"_I'm at the hospital Chuck." Serena cries shakily. "It's Blair, it's, she's loosing it… I was at her house_ _and it happened…she…I got her here, and I was trying to calm her down and all she kept saying was 'Chuck'._

_He stays silent, stomach lurching as his step sister chokes her way around the night's events._

"_I don't even think she knew she was saying it…you know right? About the baby…I…it was awful and I couldn't do anything…I called a driver but…I…should I have called 911? She needs you Chuck."_

_He's still silent and she's no longer making sense._

"_Just come." She ends abruptly, and it takes too long for what she's said to sink in, and yet he knew exactly what the call was about before he even answered. He hates himself for letting her go._

_And though he knows Serena's right, and that Blair probably does need him, wanting him to be there is an entirely separate thing. She's not wanted him anywhere since the day he slept with Amelia, and he doesn't blame her._

_So after hours of pacing, of hesitance and deliberating, Chuck finally bolts downstairs._

"The car's outside." He tells her quietly, wishing she'd say something, _anything at all _to prove that she's not as broken as he thinks.

**X**

Maybe this is her way out.

Maybe it's all just her 'get out of jail free' card so-to-speak. She's not wanted the baby in the first place, and perhaps this is her punishment. Perhaps the baby didn't want her either; she wouldn't be surprised.

As they enter Chuck's suite, memories of old times flooding back, he does his best to make this better for her, explaining (or not really explaining at all) "I thought you'd be better off here."

Blair wants him to understand what this feels like. She doesn't want to be the only one this affects, doesn't want to be the only one who feels empty and hollow and confused.

"Maybe you want to get a shower?" He asks carefully. "Or just…I can get you a flannel if you like?"

She nods gratefully, managing the smallest, tightest of smiles as he opens the bathroom door.

She knows it's wrong and that it's unfair, but Blair wishes more than anything that this was Chuck's baby she'd lost. Maybe then he'd be able to understand just how she feels to have lost something she'd never even wanted in the first place.

But as long as he can't fully understand (even though he'll force himself harder than anyone to try), she'll keep quiet, keep her thoughts and her feelings to herself because it's easier this way and she feels less stupid for crying over something that would have only ruined her life anyway.

He sighs, not angry or frustrated, but tiredly, painfully wishing there was more he could do for her. Chuck's always been this way around her, and what had once made her feel powerful and in control now makes her feel weaker than ever.

Now, she needs him just to hold her up, just to lean on while he wipes the warm, damp cloth across her skin, smoothing her soft hair away delicately, like she's some kind of porcelain doll that could break under his touch.

He turns himself away reluctantly as she pulls his oversized shirt around her cold body, and when her shaking fingers fail to do up the buttons, he senses, turns and does them for her without a word, without the expression of pity and sadness written across his face that she knows he knows she doesn't want to see.

It the most gentle he's ever been, and Blair can't help but stay rooted as his arms wrap around her and her hair brushes against his cheek. She thinks she feels his lips press the softest of kisses onto her forehead, and then her eyes will themselves to shut, and she tries not to think about anything to do with him, because it's all only hurting more.

She'd stay like that with him all night if her legs didn't have other ideas, and as she feels her knees start to buckle beneath her, Chuck senses, and half scoops her up, not in the same way he would if they were re-enacting a cheesy movie scene, but sort-of ushering her, guiding her towards his bed, where he draws back the sheets before resting her there, biting the sides of his mouth to stop himself saying something to damage her further.

So when she finally breaks her silence and asks him to put on some music (only because she needs something to take her mind off listening to him breathe,) she's surprised when he bothers to ask what she'd like.

She can't muster the energy to respond, and simply closes her eyes as he places an old record onto the player she figures his father has had stored somewhere for the past twenty years.

If this was them normally, she'd mock, or maybe raise an eyebrow expressing the fact that she didn't know he was into old sounds. But this isn't them normally, and so Blair simply shivers underneath the expensive sheets, haunted by the words of Sam Cooke over Chuck's record player.

"Will you lay with me?" She asks in the smallest softest of voices, and it's so quiet he almost doesn't hear. And yet, he obviously does, because when his eyes lock with hers, his legs have taken him across to that bed before he can even realise.

He hates that it's a question and not an order, because when he thinks about it, Chuck can't ever remember Blair asking him for anything in her life.

He wants to suggest that he takes her back to the hospital, that maybe he should at least call Eleanor or Serena to save their worry, because after all, they both know she really shouldn't be here. But he knows better than anyone that she's safe now, and that she _feels _safe now, and so on purely selfish reasoning, Chuck turns off his cell with his left hand, stroking her hair with his right as she moves closer into him.

He talks to her (only in his head) as he watches tear after tear fall out of her closed eyes, and silently tells himself that there isn't a God up there, because she doesn't deserve any of this.

"It's my fault." She mumbles with trembling lips as she realises all of this – the miscarriage, Chuck knowing, Serena knowing - is a weight off of her, and then self-hate and disgust falls all around after she realises the kind of person she is.

"I didn't want it." She cries. "I said I wasn't pregnant, I denied everything, I…I didn't eat, and I drunk martini and…this wasn't supposed be how it ended."

She claws at him for comfort, for reassurance and safety, and he shields her body with his, her face pressed into his chest, his arms and legs over hers in that huge bed to try and urge some warmth into her body, onto her skin through that shirt, through _his _shirt while forcing himself not to cry with her.

Telling her that it's not her fault – _arguing_ – it wouldn't help, Chuck figures. He only tries to soothe her as she cries into him, as her hands grab for his shirt and his skin and his lips in desperation, more and more tears falling as the words from the record fill the air to make it the saddest song he's ever heard.

* * *

Review please? For the last chapter? Lots of love xxx


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